


Hey, Mister Wrong

by dollsome



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-06
Updated: 2011-08-06
Packaged: 2017-10-22 07:25:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/235458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollsome/pseuds/dollsome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spike has this inconvenient tendency to make Buffy's fantasies rebel against her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hey, Mister Wrong

**1. _season two_**

“Say hello to Mr. Pointy!” Buffy demands, tackling Spike to the ground. The grass is wet underneath them, and it smells like rain and dirt and his cigarettes and her new perfume. She straddles him to keep him still, and it would almost be kinda sexy if it wasn’t, you know, a fight to the death. Also, if he wasn’t Spike.

“Slayer,” he whispers hoarsely, a faint smile twisting his mouth. “Always knew I couldn’t best you.”

“You knew right, Spike,” she confirms in a low murmur, and plunges the stake into his chest. And unless she’s wrong, there’s some definite lusty gazing going on right before his eyes, y’know, turn into dust and stuff.

She wipes dusty Spike remnants off her totally cute new jeans.

+

“Buffy?” Giles repeats, irritated. “Did you hear what I just said?”

Xander waves a helpful hand in front of her face. “Earth to the Buffster.”

“What?” Buffy blinks.

“Repeat what I just said, will you?” Giles instructs, narrowing his eyes at her.

Meanie.

“Um,” she says. “Uh—”

“It’s okay, Giles,” Willow cuts in mercifully. “She was probably just, you know, reflecting on the last thing you said. About the crypt full of vampires.” She shoots a significant look at Buffy.

“Or she was daydreaming about Angel,” Xander scowls.

“Ooh, that’s good too!” Willow beams, turning to her. “Were you?”

“Um, Angel,” Buffy says. “Yep.”

  
 **2. _season three_**

“You’re not gonna do it, are you, Slayer?” Spike asks, looking up at her. He’s kinda whimpery and pathetic, clutching a half-empty bottle of something alcoholic and gross, sprawled across the remnants of his and Dru’s bed at the factory. “Not gonna kick a man when he’s down, are ya?”

“What makes you think I won’t?” she answers coolly, and takes her time straddling him on the bed. To be in the dominant position, and all. So she can, you know, kill him.

“You’re one of the good guys,” he accuses. “You don’t have it in you.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” she purrs.

“’Sides,” he continues desperately, “I thought we were getting to be friends. We fought together back there.”

“We’ll never be friends,” she informs him, leaning close. To, y’know, give her words more impact.

“’Til it kills us both,” Spike agrees after a moment, grinning in this way that’s slow and maybe, fine, a little bit sexy.

“Which is gonna be now,” she informs him in a deathly whisper. “Say hello to Mr. Pointy.”

“Buffy,” he moans as he turns to dust.

+

“Buffy?”

Oops. Major oops. Big, bad oops. “Yeah?”

“What’re you thinking about?” Angel asks, smiling at her. Or, well, the Angel version of a smile, which is more of a . . . non-broody look.

She makes up for the guilt with an extra-bright smile back.

“What do you think?” she asks, and stands up on her tiptoes to kiss him.

  
 **03. _season four_**

“Marry me.”

“Spike, I can’t,” Buffy explains impatiently. “I have to kill you.”

“Doesn’t have to be that way,” he cajoles, his hands sneaking onto her hips. He doesn’t seem all that bothered by Mr. Pointy. “C’mon. You know it wasn’t just the spell. We’re good together, you and me.”

“No, we are the opposite of that. We’re bad together. Very, very bad.”

“Oh yeah?” Spike asks, trailing really inconvenient kisses down her neck. “Not sure I remember that part.”

“Mr. Pointy,” she whimpers in vain, because hello, she _wants_ to kill Spike. A lot. What she doesn’t want is for him to be kissing her neck like – ohhh.

Is there a way to kill Spike and still keep the neck kissing?

“What?” he asks.

“Mr. Pointy doesn’t like this,” she declares as forcefully as she can. Which is, like, two percent away from not forcefully at all.

“He doesn’t?” Spike repeats, and there’s no way he’s _not_ talking about dirty things because his voice is all low and amused and did she mention the dirty? “Because I’m pretty sure he—” And then realization strikes. “Ah. That Mr. Pointy.”

“I gotta kill you now,” she informs him, struggling to seem intimidating and professional. “Because I hate you, and if it weren’t for the chip in your head, you’d murder me and all of my friends. Also, you’re really super-annoying.”

“All right,” he agrees after a moment, sighing heavily. “But Buffy?”

“Yeah?” she asks meekly.

“One last kiss before I go?”

“Well.” She hesitates. “I guess that might be okay . . .”

+

“Whoa – Buffy— _Buffy_!!”

The car she just nearly head-on collided into lets out a string of annoyed honks. Which, okay, she guesses she deserves.

“Aack!” She cringes. “Sorry.”

Bad. Bad, wrong, bad thoughts. Thoughts to not be had while driving with cute new boyfriend.

“It’s okay,” Riley says, reaching over and rubbing her shoulder reassuringly. “You just gotta relax.”

“Right,” she says, and takes a deep breath in. “Relaxing. I can do that.”

“It seems like your mind wandered,” Riley observes, all charming and oblivious. “What were you thinking about?”

“Um,” she says awkwardly. “Killing vampires.”

“Wow.” Riley chuckles. “Workaholic, huh?”

“That’s me,” she chirps. “I’m a busy little beaver. Or, um—” She reaches for his hand. “Hey! This is fun, right?”

Riley guides her hand gently back to the wheel. “Maybe you oughta stick with ten and two.”

“Right,” she says, trying to seem responsible and diligent and like someone who won’t wind up killing them. “Ten and two. I’m focusing.”

“No more vampires,” Riley instructs.

“No more vampires,” she echoes obediently. She clutches the wheel so tight that there might be some Buffy finger shapes embedded in it by the time they get back to campus. She hopes Riley won’t notice.

  
 **4. _season five_**

“Insert Mr. Pointy quip here,” Buffy declares, because her brain is all inconveniently blank and fuzzy.

“What?” Spike asks. He is, for some reason, shirtless. And in her bedroom.

“ _Quip_ ,” she emphasizes, her heartbeat, like, tripling or something. “Because, you know, I say something witty about my _stake_ , Mr. Pointy, and then I kill you. It’s our routine.”

“Ah,” Spike says with a nod. “Right.” After a moment he adds, “Thought you might have been coming onto me for a second there.”

“You wish,” Buffy replies, trying really really hard not to look at him.

“Yeah, I do,” he responds with an easy shrug.

“Well, tough,” she informs the patch of wall about a foot to the right of his head. “’Cause it’s never gonna happen.”

“Something the matter, Slayer?” he asks, all annoyingly calm and self assured and has she mentioned the shirtless part?? “You’re right skittish.”

“You’re in my room,” she retorts sharply. “With no shirt. I get to skit.”

“Looks good on you,” he informs her with an appreciative leer.

“Skit?” she repeats blankly.

He eyes her up and down. Probably not skit, then.

Nope. Turns out she’s suddenly just in her underwear. Great.

“This is very, very bad,” she announces miserably.

“Mmm,” he murmurs, taking a step forward. “Won’t argue with that.”

“I don’t mean naughty sexy fun bad!” she says, and maybe there’s a little tinge of hysteria in her voice. “I mean – I have to kill you.” She brandishes Mr. Pointy as evidence.

Spike just keeps walking toward her, though, like he doesn’t even care about the pesky death part. “Why?”

She feels really helpless all of a sudden, even though she’s the one who’s doing the slaying here. “Why else would we be here?”

He catches her wrist. Encircles it with his cold, strong fingers.

“Yeah, about that,” he says, grinning at her. “I’ve got an idea or two . . .”

+

“Buffy?”

“What?” She sits up straighter. Magic Box. Scooby Meeting. Right. No Spike. Noooo Spike. “Buffy. That’s me. I’m here. I’m paying attention. I’m not thinking about . . . wrong . . . bad-type things.”

“Of course you are,” Anya responds promptly. “Your breathing is irregular.”

“It is not!” Buffy insists, glaring at her.

“Not really your business, hon,” Xander says uncomfortably.

“Well, it’s very obvious,” Anya pouts, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “Everyone’s thinking it.”

“She’s probably just thinking about having sex with Riley,” Dawn scowls. “Like always.”

“You guys!” Buffy exclaims.

“Then who are you having sex with?” Dawn demands, hands on hips. Everyone’s suddenly looking down the table at her with varying degrees of curiosity.

“Riley,” Buffy squeaks.

 **5. _season six_**

“Aren’t you s’posed to stake me right about now?”

“Shut _up_ ,” Buffy orders impatiently. “Or I’m going to.”

“Admit it,” Spike orders, his fingers entangled loosely in her hair. “You’re gettin’ right attached to me.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am so not.”

“Then why are we just lying here?”

And they kinda are. Instead of the floor, which is where they always wind up anyway, they’re all nestled up together in his bed. It’s kinda comfy.

Damn it.

“Go to sleep, Spike,” she orders.

And the thing is, he actually gets quiet for a second. She closes her eyes, and maybe snuggles a little closer to him. But just a little.

“Buffy?”

God, he’s annoying.

“ _What_?” she asks, opening her eyes.

“Are we spooning?”

“No!”

Except for the part where they totally are.

Oops.

“Your greatest me-centric fantasy is _cuddling_?” Spike repeats incredulously, and lets out a laugh. “Oh, that’s rich.”

“Shut up,” she orders, turning around and pounding one fist lightly against his chest. “I just thought . . . I don’t know, that maybe, for once, you could act like a normal boyfriend.”

His eyes seem to get darker. All of a sudden, his voice stops being all cocky and Spikelike. “I’m not your boyfriend.”

“No,” she agrees darkly. “You’re really not.”

He hesitates, then asks, “D’you want me to be?”

“Sometimes,” she admits timidly. “A little.”

She looks back at him, and he’s smiling. “I can work with that.”

He leans down to kiss her hair. She closes her eyes again. And even though she’s technically snuggling with the undead, she kinda feels all nice and warm and fuzzy. It’s been awhile since she felt this good. Possibly foreverish.

“This is nice,” she murmurs.

+

“This is bad,” she announces.

“And yet you keep finding your way back here,” Spike responds smugly. “Funny, innit?”

“Not _us_ -this,” Buffy snaps. “I’ve-got-work-in-eighteen-minutes-and-I-can’t-find-my-clothes this.”

“Oh, right,” Spike mumbles. He sounds a little sheepish. Which he should, by the way.

She winces a little as she gets down on her knees to search the floor. This has got to stop. Now. Possibly even yesterday.

And it totally will.

Eventually.

She just has to find her panties first.

“Looking for these?” She looks up to find Spike dangling them off one finger. Of course.

She yanks them out of his hand.

“I’ve gotta go,” she mutters.

“No goodbye kiss?” he calls after her mockingly. “Sure you don’t fancy a bit of cuddling first?”

She only pauses for a second, and walks extra fast after that to make up for it.

Stupid daydreams.

 


End file.
